


In the Middle of the Flood

by thelightninginme



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Could be read as Gen or Slash, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), gladio is in this but only for 30 seconds so i didn't tag him, sorry gladio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 03:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightninginme/pseuds/thelightninginme
Summary: Prompto is pretty certain that nothing will ever okay again; Ignis reminds him that shouldn't stop him from trying to keep Noct's head above water. (And his own.)





	In the Middle of the Flood

**Author's Note:**

> Man I went into this game knowing all the big spoilers, so I knew things would get serious at some point, and I thought I could handle it, but then I got to chapter nine and was not expecting a whole cold shower’s worth of angst to be dumped on my head. And then the game just kept pushing all of my hurt/comfort and found family buttons, and Prompto soon became my fave, and I just adore his dynamic with Noctis, in either a romantic or platonic sense, and now here we are. I know this scenario’s been written to death, but it felt like a good one with which to take the boys out for a spin, and you can never have too much emotional h/c fics right!?!? 
> 
> Title is from “The Lightning Strike” by Snow Patrol.
> 
> _And in the middle of the flood I felt my worth_
> 
> _When you held on to me like I was your little life raft_
> 
> _Please know that you were mine as well _

A couple of weeks ago, back when they were different people, a scene like the one currently playing out in front of him would’ve made Prompto snicker to himself about Mom and Dad having a disagreement. Now, though, it just makes him nearly dizzy with indecision. 

“He needs to _rest_,” Ignis says in a tone that, were it directed at anyone else, would’ve shut down any possibility of a counter-argument. “I doubt he can even summon a weapon at this point.” 

“Can’t, or won’t?” Gladio snaps. He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, nor does he wait for one, striding out of the secretary’s guest quarters and shutting the door behind him surprisingly gently. Nevertheless, Ignis flinches as if he’d slammed it. 

But it’s not like Prompto doesn’t get where he’s coming from. He’s never sat around this much in his life, and he doubts Gladio has either, and there’s only so many times a guy can lock himself in the bathroom and have a quick cry. Nervous energy wins out and Prompto shoots to his feet; Ignis jumps at the sound and if that isn’t a stab in the gut. “I’m going to get something to drink, want anything?” Prompto says. His voice crackles like glass. 

“Please,” comes the soft reply. 

For as much as Her Secratarialness would rather they get the fuck out of Altissia, the kitchenette attached to these apartments is surprisingly well-stocked. “Look what I found,” Prompto says as he returns to the front sitting room, and if Ignis notices the turn of phrase that makes Prompto’s skin crawl as soon as he’s blurted it out, Ignis doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead he receives the can Prompto places in his hands and his mouth quirks in a smile a beat later. 

“A little sad,” Ignis says, as Prompto flops into the chair beside him, “that I know the stuff on touch alone.” 

“A little. We ought to do something about your caffeine habit.” 

Ignis doesn’t answer, and for a long moment he doesn’t open the can, either, but sets it down on the table in front of him and runs his fingers up and down the length of it. Prompto watches him, then realizes it’s rude to stare, then realizes Ignis doesn’t even know that he’s staring, and then there again is that thought that’s oft come unbidden ever since he and Gladio found Noct and Ignis sprawled on the altar’s slippery cold stone and Ravus hunched in on himself like a child - 

_Nothing is ever going to be okay again._

“Prompto.” 

“‘M still here.” 

“I know.” A faint hint of amusement. Prompto realizes he’s been drumming his fingers against the table top. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, and tucks his hand under his thigh. “Any, um. Anything I can do?” 

“No. But…thank you.” 

Ignis sounds like he means it, like he’s not just saying it to be polite. The desire to be helpful has had Prompto crawling out of his skin these last few days; about the best thing he can do is pretend like he’s going to get something to eat or drink anyway, and would Ignis like anything? Or to gently rest a hand on his elbow when his steps falter. And ramble along like usual. _“I don’t get rich people, who seriously needs this many rooms, anyone would get lost living in a place like this - ”_

Maybe it’s helpful, maybe its obnoxious, maybe it’s humiliating, but all the same it strikes Prompto as more productive than what Gladio has been doing, which is stand a foot or two behind Ignis, glowering, and vibrating with uncertainty. 

“Ignis, um.” 

“Yes?” 

“You can just. If i’m being annoying, you can just tell me.” 

In all honesty, when he first started hanging out with Noct, it was Ignis that intimidated him the most; not Gladio, not even the king. And maybe even now there’s still a part of Prompto waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Ignis to politely but firmly brush him aside. 

“I know you don’t really like to ask for help. I don’t either. But like,” and he knows he should shut up, but now that he’s opened his mouth he can’t seem to stop. “I just thought I would. Try to help. Like, until you get your bearings. But if it’s obnoxious, just tell me. Like, one time I was at the subway station and I saw this blind guy heading for the turnstile and some rando grabbed his arm thinking it was helpful and he was like, ‘dude, thanks but no thanks’ and I just don’t want to mess things up so.” 

“Prompto.” Ignis huffs in what could be amusement or annoyance or even something approaching a sob, or maybe all three. “You could hardly ‘mess things up’ worse than they already are.” 

“Point taken,” he whispers. 

“Any frustration I’ve shown - ” Ignis huffs again, “ - will show, is with the situation itself. Not you. You’ve been kind these past few days. Immeasurably so. And I do appreciate it.” He reaches out a hand in the direction of Prompto’s voice and lays it on the table, and Prompto isn’t really sure what to do with this so he reaches back and laces his fingers with Ignis’s. They stay like that for a long moment, and then Ignis gives Prompto’s hand a squeeze and says, “There is one thing you can do for me, actually.” 

“Anything.” 

“Check on Noctis.” 

“Uh. I thought you said he made it pretty clear he wanted to be alone.” 

“And as we both know, the things Noct wants versus the things he needs are not always the same.” 

Not that Prompto isn’t worried about Noct too, but… “Yeah, but that’s things like, not sleeping till noon and eating a piece of broccoli once in a while.” 

“I - point taken, but I can’t help but question whether leaving him to his own company is the wisest course. It may well be it’s only my company that he cannot bear now.” 

Ignis says it cool as you please, but if that isn’t the saddest damn thing Prompto’s heard all day. “Dude, but you - ” For once his brain works quicker than his tongue, and the thought _‘but you let the ring blow up your face to save him’_ dies in his throat, and Prompto just kind of leans back in his chair and hums in understanding. Noctis has not forgotten for a second what this trip was supposed to be, and he gets downright stupid with guilt every time any of them get so much as a scratch. 

Especially if he thinks it was a blow meant for him. 

“Besides,” Ignis continues, “I made him angry when we spoke. I suggested we - I suggested it might be best if our journey came to an end.” 

This takes a second to register. “Wait, what?”

“He took it poorly.”

“No shit!” 

“It was foolish - I shouldn’t have said it. I think he must have thought I was testing him.”

“I mean, you weren’t, obviously, but…did you mean it?” 

Ignis is quiet for a long moment. And fuck, but if the idea of _Ignis_ giving up isn’t scarier than the Empire and the gods put together. 

“No,” he answers at length, and his tone is sure enough that Prompto allows himself a tiny sigh of relief. “It was a moment of uncharacteristic weakness. I…should be proud of his resolve. I am proud. I am.” 

Prompto just nods along, forgetting Ignis can’t see it, waiting while he convinces himself of whatever it is that he needs convincing of. Their hands are still clasped together. Ignis seems to notice at the same time that Prompto does, because he gives his hand a final squeeze and lets go to finally open the can of Ebony in his slack grip and carefully lift it to his mouth take a sip. Prompto realizes he’s staring again, and he bows his head to examine his hands in his lap. 

“It’s all right. This is certainly more than you bargained for when you signed on, isn’t it.” It’s more a statement than question. 

Prompto answers anyway. “No? I mean, yeah, of course it is, but at the same time it’s not? Like, I’m still - I still feel like this is where I’m supposed to be. With you guys. I just.” He clenches his hands into fists. “I just have no idea what I’m doing.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed. We’re all a little at sea at the moment.” 

“I know, but - but you’re literally the bravest person I’ve ever met.” He doesn’t give Ignis much of a chance to respond to this. “And you and Gladio have been trained for this all your lives. And I’m just - just kind of here.” Prompto stops to consider how messed up it is, foisting his insecurities on a newly blind man, and hot shame creeps up the back of his neck. 

“You are not _just here_. You are good for him. You always have been. He doesn’t need one of my lectures right now. Or Gladio’s tough love. But I’d wager that your companionship would be welcome.” 

There’s something alien in Ignis’s tone. ‘Jealousy,’ supplies Prompto’s lizard brain that used to be jealous of everyone all the time, but that can’t be right, can it? 

“He _chose_ you,” Ignis continues. “He chose you in a way he never did with me or Gladio. Promise me you’ll never forget that. Regardless of what happens next.” 

“I promise,” he whispers. “And I’ll go check on him.” 

_(And he will forget it, temporarily, at least, until Aranea beats it back into him.) _

Prompto knocks on the door to Noctis’s room and for a long moment Prompto receives no answer except silence, until there’s a muffled, “Yeah?” 

Noctis is sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from the door, and he doesn’t turn when Prompto shuffles in, hanging off the doorknob for a moment before he decides to shut the door behind him. 

“I - uh - Ignis asked me to see how you’re doing.” 

“Just peachy.” 

Well, yeah, Prompto walked right into that one. “Need anything? Water, something to eat?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, I’ll just - ” He shuffles back half a step towards the door, eyes still on Noctis, and something in the sudden hitch of Noct’s shoulders makes Prompto hesitate with his hand on the doorknob. 

“How’s - ” That’s all Noctis can manage, that one syllable, before he falls silent again. 

So instead of leaving, Prompto crosses the room and eases himself down onto the opposite side of the bed, like Noctis is a skittish cat he’s trying not to spook. 

“Iggy’s doing good. Well, as good as he can be. He says it doesn’t hurt too much. A medic came by this morning and says the wounds are healing well. Honestly, at this point I think he’s more worried about you than anything else.” 

Noctis makes a kind of wounded sound in the back of his throat, which strikes Prompto as the kind of thing that would satisfy Gladio, so he adds, “And Gladio’s out busy punching rubble out of the way, or something.” 

Noctis doesn’t answer, or make any kind of further acknowledgment, so Prompto just watches him a moment, sitting with his head bowed and his hands in his lap. It’s like the grief is a physical weight on his shoulders. 

About a week after Cor took them to their first royal tomb, Prompto woke in the middle of the night to a sound in the tent; he was about to give Gladio’s pillow a good shake in the hope it would stop the snoring, a method that had about a sixty percent success rate, when he realized he wasn’t hearing snoring at all. It was a softer sound, more strangled, punctuated with quiet gasps, and when he turned ever so slightly he could just make out the outline of Noctis, curled up on himself and trembling. 

Prompto’s first thought was that someone ought to do something, and his second thought was an inexplicable certainty that this had happened before. That Noct had lain there and cried in the dark while the rest of them slept. Surely he ought to just…reach out and touch him. It wasn’t a very big tent. Noctis was barely a foot away. But then, maybe acknowledging it would be worse? Certainly Ignis knew this was happening, in that way that he always knew everything all the time? And so Prompto lay there paralyzed by indecision, until on the other side of him Gladio shifted in his sleep and started snoring for real, and Noctis went very quiet and the moment sped out of Prompto’s reach. 

Once, eyeing Prompto’s marksmanship test results, Cor said offhandedly that Prompto had excellent instincts, and it was basically the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. And now he is sitting there watching Noctis drown five feet from the shore. Prompto’s not really sure he can conjure up a life preserver like he can conjure up a gun or a potion, but he figures he better try. Put that intuition to work. 

He clambers the rest of the way up onto the bed and scoots across the length of it, coming to rest on his knees behind Noct. Before either of them can question it, Prompto has his arms around Noctis from behind. Noctis goes stiff as a board immediately. 

“I really, really wanted to meet her,” Prompto says softly to Noct’s shoulder. “I wanted to see her in a floofy white dress and you in some ridiculous and uncomfortable formal uniform. I wanted - I wanted to eat fancy snacks off a fancy silver platter brought around by stuffy butlers. And I wanted to get _just_ drunk enough to go up in front of all those dignitaries and rich people and give a sappy toast about what a great guy you are.” 

Noctis shudders a little and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “I wanted all that too,” he whispers. “She would’ve loved you. You would’ve been able to make her smile again.” 

“What was she like?” 

“Luna was - she was the first person that made me feel like I could still do all the things I was supposed to be able to do. Luna was the first person that made me feel like I wasn’t broken beyond repair.” 

“You’re not broken beyond repair, Noct.” 

“Yes I am,” he gasps. “I _can’t_ \- I can’t _do this _\- ” He sobs in earnest then, and Prompto just winds his arms tighter around Noctis and presses his face against the spot between Noct’s shoulder blades. His t-shirt smells sour like old sweat, but Prompto is fairly certain Noctis will shake himself apart without someone to hold on to him. How anyone could be sitting on that much anguish and not implode under the weight of it, Prompto isn’t sure. Or maybe that’s what this is. Just a long overdue implosion. Because Noct tries to reign it in, he really does, Prompto can feel it in the way his shoulders keep tensing up and he can hear it in every shuddery inhale that breaks free as another sob. But Noct’s been reigning it in since the moment they learned Insomnia was gone, grief bleeding through the cracks only when he thought no one was watching, and he just can’t do it anymore. And Prompto’s always thought that was fine, chosen one or not. Noct’s still a _person_ at the end of the day.So Prompto doesn’t move, just holds on tight and waits. No, he doesn’t even loosen his grip until they reach the last hiccupy aftershocks. Prompto finally lets go when Noctis shifts a little, his shoulders no longer so hunched, like he’s physically shed a weight. Noctis finally raises his head. He scrubs at his face, and leaves his hands there a moment.

“‘M tired,” he mumbles through his fingers. 

“I bet,” Prompto says, sitting back on his heels. “That was the biggest cry-it-out in recorded history. How long’ve you been sitting on that one?” 

Noctis swings his legs up onto the bed and finally turns hollow bruised eyes to Prompto. He looks - well, not really worse than Prompto imagined, but Prompto has a pretty solid imagination. It occurs to Prompto that for all of Ignis’s insistence that Noctis needs the rest, he probably hasn’t been doing much actual sleeping back here. “Stay. Please?” Noct asks.

Prompto doesn’t think he’ll manage to get the words out around the lump in his throat, so he just nods. They settle into a comfortable position, Prompto sitting up against the headboard and Noctis stretched out beside him (hey, not staring at the wall anymore, that’s progress). The crying really has worn him out because he’s asleep in minutes, breathing mostly even save for the occasional last hitch, one hand brushing lightly against Prompto’s knee. Might as well be a vice grip, for as well as it keeps him pinned there. 

But that restless energy hasn’t left him entirely so Prompto mindlessly tugs his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it and almost texts Iggy an update before realizing the futility of that course, and instead creates a calendar reminder to set up text-to-speech on Ignis’s phone. And then, without really stopping to consider what he’ll see there, he opens his photo app and starts idly scrolling through the pictures. 

He bought the camera, the most extravagant purchase of his life, specifically to document this trip with something other than his cell phone, and so nearly all the photos on his phone are from before they left, in Insomnia. Buildings and places that no longer stand. Gladio in front of his favorite ramen shop. The park a few blocks away from Prompto’s apartment where he and Noct would go some nights to shoot the shit. A candid shot of Ignis making dinner at Noct’s one night. A selfie of Prompto and Noctis at the midnight release party for _Verum__ Rex 3_. 

So the thing that gets him, in the end, isn’t sitting there helpless at the sight of Ignis fumbling for Noct’s pale hand limp on the covers, Gladio unable to even look at either of them, or sitting there speechless while Noctis sobs his guts out; it’s the reminder that they weren’t like this always, that they were happy once, and that they can never go back there again. 

Prompto sets his phone aside and presses the heels of his hands against his streaming eyes and allows himself the quietest sniffles he can muster. Not quiet enough, because it’s not long before Noct’s hand twitches against his leg. Then his fingertips tap a familiar pattern on Prompto’s knee - the little victory tune that plays after a successful raid in King’s Knight. 

“Sorry if I woke you,” he manages. 

“Jus’ dozing,” Noctis answers, too slurred for the words to be convincing. Still, at least his voice is thick with sleep instead of tears. 

“Every time I think I’m finished,” Prompto shudders, removing his hands from his face. When he looks down Noctis is looking up at him, eyes still red, yes, but clear this time. 

He grunts out something that might be, “Same.” 

“I wish we could go back,” Prompto sighs, forgetting for a second he’s here to do the comforting, not be comforting. 

“Me too.” They’re both quiet for a long moment, and then Noctis says, very softly, “I miss my dad.” 

And _gods_, Prompto wishes he had the right words for that, but he doesn’t now, and he didn’t back when they were seventeen and it was late on a school night, and Noctis stared at his own reflection in Prompto’s little TV during a long loading screen, controller slack in his grip, and announced quietly, “My dad’s dying.” 

So Prompto slides down until he’s laying side by side with Noctis so he can pull him in close and tuck Noct’s head under his chin, run his fingers through Noct’s tangled unwashed hair. “But that’s why we’re here, right? So we’re the last kids that have to leave our homes and our families and miss our dads. To make it better for all the kids after us.” 

Noctis fists the fabric of Prompto’s shirt. “_Yes_,” he gasps. Given how sleepy he sounded a moment ago, the vehemence with which Noctis clings back is surprising. 

“Take it easy. ‘M not going anywhere.” Noct’s grip loosens only some when his breathing evens out and he’s out again. 

Prompto’s last thought before he’s out too is that they’ll probably wake up sweaty and scrambling for opposite sides of the bed. Noctis gives off heat like a furnace. Ah well. 

When Prompto opens his eyes next the room is fairly dark, and the faint light coming through the window is the blue tinge of either twilight - or dawn. Noctis is still wrapped up in his arms, still out like a light. Good. Prompto realizes the sound of footsteps in the hall is what woke him, but not even Titan putting his giant rock fist through the door would drive Prompto away from this spot. Probably wouldn’t wake Noct, either. 

With a sudden pang of guilt, though, he remembers it was Ignis who sent him back here; well, hopefully he figured that no news was good news. Maybe the presence outside is just Ignis coming to check on them. But then the door opens, with no fumbling at the doorknob - and no knocking, either. 

Prompto lifts his head off the pillow and turns toward the door behind him, but doesn’t otherwise move. “I got him, big guy,” he whispers into the darkness. 

There’s a long moment of silence, then Gladio’s soft “Thanks,” and the sound of the door clicking shut, then footsteps retreating down the hall.

Noctis twitches a little, screws his eyes shut. It’s a little bit adorable. “Time ‘s it?” he mumbles.

“Don’t know, don’t care. Go back to sleep, if you can.” 

“Please stay,” Noctis asks again, but there’s more of a desperate edge to it this time. He draws even tighter to Prompto, like he’ll die without the contact. Maybe Ignis was right. Maybe they did leave him in his own head for too long. 

“I’m right here. Just sleep. I’ll be right here the whole time.” 

“Thank you,” Noct answers against Prompto’s neck. He’s asleep again before long, but this time Prompto stays awake, because this is what he’s supposed to do, right? Guard Noct? Even from his own broken heart. 


End file.
